


Beautiful, Don't Worry (I'll Take Care of You)

by haraya



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 05:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16056464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haraya/pseuds/haraya
Summary: He's always taking care of her. She's just returning the favor.





	Beautiful, Don't Worry (I'll Take Care of You)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place within [Gemini's Dreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928281), though it's not really necessary to read that, just know that the premise is that this all takes place after the events of the game, and Asra and the Apprentice are traveling the world in their magic wagon, peddling their magic wares and services.
> 
> ALSO: this has no plot whatsoever. This fic is just Asra getting gently fucked in the ass the way he deserves. That's it, this is just porn, don't expect anything else.

She returns to their wagon late in the afternoon, coming down the dirt path from the nearby town just as Asra is finishing up his last reading for the day. She nods smilingly at his customer as they leave, before she skips up the steps to the wagon's porch and into Asra's waiting arms.

"I'm home," she says, then kisses the smile that blooms across his mouth at her words. (He gets giddy at the _smallest_ things, sometimes.) "How was your day?"

His arm is warm around her waist as he ushers her into their home. "Busy. Did a few readings. The old man I read for yesterday came by to drop off some bean sprouts as payment. I put them on the shelf over there; figured I'd ask you what you want me to do with them."

"Oh, perfect," she says, setting down her bag on their tiny table to rifle through it, willfully ignoring the box at the very bottom. "The farmer's wife who ordered the tonics paid with mushrooms. I can make spring rolls, if you'd like." She pulls out the cloth-wrapped parcel that contains the mushrooms and brings it over to their similarly tiny counter to start preparing dinner.

"It's _my_ turn to cook," he reminds her gently, trying to tug her hands off the parcel. She resists. It's the perfect opportunity for a little reconnaissance.

_(Baby steps,_ she tells herself.)

"You could stand to let me spoil you more, you know," she says, kissing him wherever she can reach, which ends up being his chin. He laughs.

"I'm spoiled enough just having you here," he says, orchid eyes twinkling in the golden afternoon light streaming through the window, but he relinquishes the mushrooms and wraps his arms around her from behind instead, which makes her hope he might not be too opposed to the idea of being . . . _taken care of._

_Except_ —the kitchen isn't the bedroom, so she's still not sure how he'll react _later,_ but. _Baby steps._

Dinner passes quickly, though that might be attributed to her nerves. She hastily stows away their clean dishes as Asra heads out to the porch to extinguish the lantern that indicates the shop is open. She crosses over to the window above her potions table and unlatches it, giving the serpent hanging from the rafters a meaningful look.

Faust hisses almost knowingly at her, and Rei thinks that if snakes could wink she would _definitely_ be winking right now, which is a little embarrassing. But she slithers out the window all the same, disappearing into the grass outside just as Asra comes back in, locking the door behind him.

"Did Faust head out?" he asks, tilting his head.

"Yeah. Tulin, too," she adds, and tries not to think about the quite frankly _offensively_ judgemental look her familiar gave her that afternoon before flying off to hunt. "So we've got the place to ourselves tonight."

_"Oh?"_ Asra drawls out interestedly, his usual sly grin already making itself at home on his face. _So predictable._ Or maybe she just knows him too well. Or maybe _he_ just knows _her_ too well, to have gathered her meaning so quickly.

She probably ought to be embarrassed by that, but—it's _Asra._ She keeps that thought in her head— _it's Asra, it's Asra_ —until all her nervousness fades away. _It's Asra._

"Rei?" he asks, stepping closer when she goes quiet. His hands immediately, comfortingly, come to rest on her waist.

"So," she begins, "you know that old lady I went to visit today, who was having trouble with the plants in her garden? Well, I helped her fix it—earth hadn't been cleansed in years, no big deal. Took a bit of magic, though."

He smiles, though he looks a little perplexed at her seeming change of topic. "I knew you could do it. You're amazing, Rei."

"Thank you," she says primly, flashing him a quick smile. "But— _anyway,_ apparently the old lady's wife owns a . . . _specialty store."_ She doesn't know what her expression looks like right now.

Because _that_ had certainly been an interesting conversation. _Mortifying,_ to be sure, but intriguing enough that she'd left their shop a package heavier than when she'd arrived. "They let me choose any one item as payment, and—I—uh—"

"What kind of specialty store?" he asks, ever curious.

"Right, I should just—I'll show you. Here," she says, turning to grab her bag resting on the potions table and pulling out the ornate box. There's nothing to really clue in on its contents, although the gilt curving in intricate patterns along its surface seems indicative of its value. Asra stands behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his chin atop her head as she unlatches the lid and flips it open.

He blinks.

"Rei," he says. "That is a _dick._ It's a _carved stone dick."_

The phallus lies innocuously in its silk nesting, catching the lamplight in its translucent depths. Silver speckles and swirling clouds of lilac shimmer within the deep purple of the polished stone shaft. A leather harness is neatly folded up against the inside of the lid, and a small corked bottle lies against one corner, startlingly out of place.

"I'm _aware,"_ she laughs, wry. "It's made from charoite. Good stone for calming and letting go, the old lady said." She pauses. "Also, it's your color."

He snorts, breath warm beside her ear.

"She was nice enough to throw in the oil for free, too," she finishes lamely, and glances at Asra's pensive face.

He hums, then says, with only the barest hint of a smile, "Why did you bring home a stone dick, Rei?" and proceeds to drape himself over her oh-so-dramatically, squeezing her against his chest. He hooks his chin over her shoulder, full lips pulled down in a pout of mock-hurt, but the gleam of mischief in his eyes gives him away. "Am I not _doing_ it for you? You can tell me. Am I not _satisfying_ you, Rei?"

He knows full well how _satisfied_ she is. He's probably already thinking of ways he could use the toy on _her,_  cheeky thing.

_"Hush,_ you. I couldn't be happier and you know it." She kisses him on the rise of his cheekbone, just under his eye, and his answering smile lights up his whole face. (It takes _so little_ to make him happy.) "It's not for me. It's for you."

He blinks, again. "Me?"

She turns in his arms, clasping her fingers behind his neck as his hands shift almost unthinkingly to rest on her waist. "You're always taking care of me," she says. "In bed, and out of it. You've been taking care of me for the past _three years,_ Asra. I want to take care of you, too."

He keeps blinking. Is he alright?

_"Ah,"_ he stutters, finally, then clears his throat, heat creeping across his cheeks as he glances briefly away. "You don't _owe_ me for that. I didn't—I didn't do all that just to _collect,_ Rei. Having you here, with me—that's reward enough." He looks back at her, his expression ardent and serious as he runs a gentle thumb across her cheek. "You don't need to do anything special to make me happy."

A smile quirks her mouth. "Mm, I know, and I love that about you—" She gives him a swift peck before leveling him with a look. "—but Asra, I need you to stop being selflessly _sweet_ for a second while I'm over here trying to _fuck_ you."

He's startled into laughter, that babbling-brook sound she loves so much, and he nuzzles into her neck to stifle his mirth, his huffing breaths tickling her skin.

"I love you, too," he says between chuckles, then kisses her cheek, adoring as he always is. "I just—never really thought about it, I guess." He goes quiet, pursing his lips.

"We don't have to," she hastens to reassure him, "if you don't want. I just thought—"

He bites his lip, then: _"Yes."_

She stops. "Yes?"

"Yes, I want to try." He ducks his head, flushing. "I like it when you take care of me," he admits, smiling bashfully, and shrugs. "Though I wasn't sure if, you know— _bed._ Dunno why I never thought to ask, actually."

_(It's because you never ask for anything,_ she thinks. _It's because you've lived so long thinking you don't deserve it.)_

She rises onto her toes to kiss him—no heat, yet; only warmth—because this, too, is taking care of him: reminding him that he is precious, and cherished, and loved. _And loved._

Asra sighs against her mouth, arms tightening around her as he pulls her close, head tilting into her kiss. She fits herself against him, curving with him when he bends her slightly backwards with the eagerness of his affections. Her fingers are still clasped at the back of his neck, and she hums, before crooking her thumbs and dragging the edge of her thumbnails along his skin—not too hard, just enough that the light pressure makes him shiver—following the line of the tendons that trail from just below his ears down to the junction where neck meets shoulder.

He gasps, warm breath puffing against her lips, and she uses her opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking into the heat of his mouth. He groans _deliciously_ under the onslaught, a shudder running through his frame as her tongue meets his in a gentle but insistent dance.

"Are we—" he pulls away to ask, swallowing when she moves to kiss the apple of his throat instead. His breathlessness makes her smile. "Are we doing this now?"

"We're doing this for _you,"_ she reminds him, pressing feather-light kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. She pulls back to look at him, running her hands reassuringly down his arms. "We can put this off to whenever you feel like it. We'll do this when _you_ want it, Asra. It doesn't have to be now."

He shakes his head, white curls swaying over his already darkening eyes. "Now, please."

She smiles. "Bed, then." She tugs at his shirt. "With this off."

He grins, excitement coaxing out his dimples, and gives her another sloppy kiss on the cheek before heading toward the little alcove at the front of the wagon that houses their bed. She gathers the box with the phallus and the harness and the jar of sweet almond oil, and follows after him, slipping through the dividing curtain and into their makeshift bedroom.

Asra kneels on the bed, spreading a towel on the mattress, then rearranges the multitude of pillows into some semblance of order, and finally draws the heavier curtains over the window, before looking over at his handiwork with a satisfied nod. His serious, earnest expression as he does so makes something _flip_ in her chest, ridiculously fond.

She sets the box on one of the shelves at the foot of the bed, for now, and summons several magelights, letting them drift to the corners of the alcove. They glow a soft turquoise—the default, for her magic—but she frowns and waves a hand, changing them from blue to red, and then again from red to lavender.

"What are you doing?" Asra says, halfway out of his shirt. Amusement dances in his eyes and in the shadows of his dimples.

"Don't laugh," she chides him. "I'm setting the mood."

He ignores her admonishment, bursting into peals of delighted _pfhahahas_ that bounce around the tiny space. He shrugs the rest of the way out of his shirt and leans over to kiss her.

"You're _adorable,_ Rei," he says, grinning.

"Keep distracting me and we'll never get to the fun part," she deflects, tapping his nose. "What's your favorite color?"

His smile turns so soft it makes her feel like liquid sunlight, dripping puddles on the bed. He places a kiss on the outer corner of each of her eyes. _"Brown."_

She snorts, rolling her eyes, but she waves a hand anyway, and the lights change color into a warm, deep gold.

There is such _wonder_ in his eyes, always, when he looks at her, and it compels her to pitch her voice low and soft. "Lie down, would you?"

He leans back, compliant, but he grasps her wrists, tugging her forward so she's crouched over him as he sinks into the pillows. And then she kisses him, because what else can she do, when he's beautiful and beloved and _hers?_

Languid. _Slow._ The spark of arcane fire that flows through her veins tempers into something softer, more fluid—more like the cool trickle of water that flows through his. She kisses him until her fire turns to molten heat and his water turns to gentle steam. She kisses him until they're at an equilibrium, until their magic slips and slides over the other's in a way that makes it hard to tell whose is whose.

"I could kiss you forever," he murmurs, in between pauses for breath. "I'll never get tired of kissing you."

_(Liquid sunlight, puddling.)_ She hides her smile against his cheek. "Asra," she reminds him, "the _sweetness,_ turn in down a little?"

_"Oh?"_ He grins, rakish. "You want me _spicier?"_ He waggles his eyebrows, and he looks _ridiculous,_ and she _loves_ him, but—

_(I want you selfish,_ she thinks. _I want you to ask because you believe you deserve it.)_

Well, no reason she can't tell him.

"Asra," she says, pulling back a little to hover over him, "you _do_ know that if you want something from me, anything at all—you can just _ask,_ right?"

_That_ seems to throw him for a loop, which is both endearing and, somehow, incredibly heartbreaking. (He deserves so much more than what he thinks he does.)

"I—well, yes," he admits, unable to look at her. "Just—not used to it, I guess."

"Well, I will _make_ you used to it, or so help me," she huffs. Then she brushes aside his bangs and says, softer, "Try for me?"

He flushes, gnawing on his lip, and says, a little hesitant, _"Kiss me again?"_

(Adorable. _Adorable._ She's going to be stupidly in love with him forever, isn't she?)

_"Gladly,"_ she breathes, and then she does.

It's a little rougher, now. Asra is a little tentative about it, but he's _taking,_ and she's _fiercely_ glad of it. She hums appreciatively when he tangles his fingers into her hair.

"Anything else?" she murmurs, lips skating across his cheek, down his jaw.

He's blinking, again—eyes already a little out of focus—but he tugs at her clothes all the same. _"Off."_

She smiles, and guides his hands to the knot that holds her skirt closed, undoing it together until she can slip it off, followed by her vest, then her shirt. When she's in nothing but bare skin, she slides one hand between his legs, cupping his growing heat over his already-tenting pants.

She will treasure this, always—the way he gasps, eyes sliding closed, and bites his lip, the skin of his chest flushed as he arches into her touch.

"Rei," he says, asking, _asking._ (Isn't that _wonderful?) "Please."_

She tugs at the laces of his pants, hurriedly extricating him from them, until they're skin to blazing skin, and the slow warmth that had been pooling between them flickers alive into _heat._

She straddles one of his legs, kissing him as he ruts against her thigh, swallowing his groan in her mouth until it travels down her throat and reverberates in her chest, in her heart. He surges up to meet her as she bears him down into the mattress, hands running over his fever-warm skin, gleaming golden in the light.

_Beautiful,_ is the first thing she thinks. (Devotion always comes first, for them.) And then the second is: _Mine._ (Desire is never too far behind.)

She claims his mouth with a kiss, and then claims all the rest of him the same way. She drags reverent lips down his neck, and his chest, and then further down, lingering to nuzzle affectionately at the soft give of his stomach and delighting in how he jumps at her delicate touch. She presses a kiss to the sharp edge of his hipbone, and huffs a quiet laugh when he squirms impatiently beneath her.

_"Ask,_ Asra," she reminds him, eyes flicking up to watch as he presses his mouth into a shy line, then runs his thumb across her bottom lip, a quiet plea.

She grins, holding his gaze as she flips all her hair over one shoulder, before she shifts even further down and takes his aching cock into her mouth.

If she never remembers anything else, let her remember this: how _beautiful_ Asra looks, gilded in lights of her own making, head thrown back in a wordless cry, just as much hers as she is his. His back arches in ecstasy as she holds his hips still with her hands and pleasures him with her mouth. She takes him as much as she can, matching the pull and drag of her tongue along his length to the raspy in and out of his shaky breaths as they leave his lungs only to linger like echoing cathedral music in the space between them. (Asra is proof of heaven if anything is, and she is here to _worship._ ) She lets him take and _take_ until his moans change pitch, higher and higher, and his fingers tug insistently at her hair.

"Close," he grits out in warning. _"Close!"_

And only then does she pull back, letting him slip, thoroughly slick, out of her mouth. She litters soft kisses along his thighs and waits for his quivering to abate, for his breaths to slow, for his eyes to crack open and a smile to spread across his lips at the sight of her own indulgent one.

"Ready?" she asks, enjoying the way his eyes follow her tongue as she licks her lips clean, and waits for him to nod before she scoots back over to the shelf, reaching for the corked bottle. She opens it and dips her fingers one by one into the sweet-smelling oil, drenching the digits before crawling back over to him and placing the bottle on the nearby window sill.

She spreads the oil along her fingers, coating them thoroughly before she brings one to circle his entrance, not yet pressing in. She waits for him to nod again before slowly, _so slowly,_ inserting one finger up to the first knuckle. At his sharp gasp, she stops immediately, eyes snapping up to his.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, starting to withdraw, but he shakes his head vigorously, a slash of red across his cheeks and nose.

"No, just— _different,"_ he explains. "Not in a bad way. Keep going, please."

So she does, pressing it in up to the second knuckle, then the third, watching in fascination as Asra sags against the mattress, eyes hazy and unfocused. She pauses, giving him time to adjust, before the slight shifting of his hips prompts her to begin sliding it languorously in and out, in and out.

She'll never forget the way he _moans,_ the way lust compels him to bare his neck to her as he throws his head back in pleasure. It'll haunt her dreams in all the best ways.

She slides closer until she can swing a leg over his, straddling him, letting him feel the wetness between her thighs even as she works him open for her. He groans at the feeling of her slit, slick with desire, sliding across his skin in slow, measured movements.

"Another, okay?" she warns him gently, and in response he only hauls her closer, one hand behind her head, and sucks delicate red petals onto the column of her neck with his wickedly talented mouth. She carefully presses another finger into him, slowing when he shudders, briefly, and continues to stretch him open as he breathes quick, sharp little pants into her ear. She scissors her fingers slowly, coaxing him open, laying a kiss on his jaw when he sighs her name and rocks against her touch.

"One more," she says, and this time he cannot help but cry out, arching against her, every line of his body against every shape of hers as she works him open fully. He's fucking himself on her fingers, now—rolling his hips, gasping for breath, with the wet squelching of her fingers in his ass being the only other sound in the room. A strangled moan escapes his lips when she crooks her fingers, searching for his prostate before— _there,_ making his back bow in a perfect, supple curve. One of his hands grips her ass, kneading the soft flesh as he buries his face in her neck, trying to stifle his desperate whine.

He takes her fingers easily, now, stretched as he is, so she pulls away slowly and he _keens,_ clenching around empty air. She kisses the corner of his mouth, comforting.

_"Relax,_ Asra," she soothes him. "I won't leave you hanging."

He shudders at the heat, at the _promise_ in her words, but he still looks so bereft as she moves away that it makes her laugh, a little. She fetches the phallus, and the harness, watching as his hunger-darkened eyes zero in on the objects in her hands.

"Help me into this, would you?" she says, and he silently, eagerly complies, fitting the straps around her hips and attaching the phallus by the flared base. Then he reaches for the bottle of oil, pouring a generous amount into the palm of her hand, and guides it over the smooth shaft, slicking it until their fingers slide over it together with no resistance. She takes the bottle from him, replacing it on the sill as she tips his face up and kisses him.

"Turn over," she whispers against his mouth, but he pauses for a moment, running his hands down her waist, leaving shimmering trails on her skin. He looks up at her with a soft smile at odds with the banked heat in his eyes.

"I love you," he says. (It's _exhilarating,_ the way he always, _always_ means it.)

"I know," she whispers, echoing his own words back to him, both of them smiling at the memory. _"Turn over,"_ she repeats, and this time he does, getting onto his knees. He rests his head atop his folded arms, leaving his ass raised in the air, ready and waiting just for her. She rubs circles onto his hip with one hand as she aligns the cock to his entrance with the other. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

He makes a quiet sound of acquiescence, and she begins to push in, slowly, watching how his muscles tense at the unfamiliar intrusion. But he sighs, and there is only contentment in the sound, so she keeps going until their hips are flush together, and when he's taken it all the way in, she drapes herself over his back until her lips just about brush the shell of his ear. His legs jerk when she grinds against his ass, a choked whimper sounding in his throat, eyes sliding tightly shut as faint tremors run through his body.

"I _like_ this," she whispers, as if telling him a secret. "Seeing you _wrecked_ for me."

He shudders, a whole body thing, and opens his eyes to look at her. His pupils almost swallow up the lovely violet of his irises. Her magelights flicker in his eyes, turning them into a miniature little night skies that are just for her.

_"Beautiful,"_ she breathes. "My beautiful Asra."

He groans, eyes sliding closed again as he whimpers and rocks back against her.

"Want me to move?" she teases, desire burning fire-bright in her chest, yet still unable to keep the tenderness from coloring her voice.

_"Please,"_ he sighs, breathy, begging, _hers._ "Rei, please. _Fuck_ me."

She smiles. He asks so _easily,_ now. (He always was a quick study, and she has always loved him for it.)

"Don't worry," she says, placing kisses along the smooth brown curve of his shoulder. "I'm going to take care of you."

And she does, canting her hips until he's rocking impatiently against the slow drag of her false cock in and out of his ass. She snakes one hand between his legs and cups his hardness, drawing a gasp from his pretty parted lips. Then she runs her thumb over the sensitive head, teasing a moan out of him, and from behind she fucks him and pleasures him and makes him feel good until the only words he remembers are her name and _yes_ and _please._

She loves him slow and tender until he whines, pushing himself back onto his hands and begins to fuck himself on her cock in earnest.

_"Rei,"_ he groans, meeting each of her thrusts, _"Hah_ —harder, _please,_ I— _hng—!"_

"Oh, _Asra,"_ she whispers, laying all her weight across his back, bearing him back down to the bed until his cheek is pressed flat against the mattress, his fingers scrambling for purchase in the sheets as she speeds up her movements, driving her cock into him with purpose. "Didn't I tell you? You only need to _ask."_

_"Ah—!"_

She snaps her hips against his ass, though the movement is a little strange to her, and not one she's used to—but Asra is trembling beneath her hands, so she tries, because she loves him, and he'd asked her to.

(She thinks, a little wildly, that if she'd only heard him _ask,_ she would have dragged herself through her own ashes and back into his waiting arms.)

She steadies him, a hand on his waist as she tilts her hips, trying to find the angle that will push the phallus against that spot inside him, and when she does, she keeps at it until he's a shaky, writhing mess beneath her, so beautifully and wonderfully _wrecked._ She takes his member in hand, drawing firm strokes all the way up the length and back, again and again and _again._

Asra whimpers, caught undecided between the heat of her palm and the hardness of her false cock—but he need never choose; she will give him both, and willingly, because he deserves to be driven mad with pleasure, deserves to be fucked senseless if he so wishes, deserves to be loved the way he wants and all the ways he's never thought to ask.

She huffs a short breath of a laugh, licking a long, languid stripe up his spine, tasting the salt of his skin and sweat and how it mingles with the heady smell of sex. She presses a smiling kiss to the base of his neck when he moans, wicked and _wild_ —shoulders digging into the mattress as his ass raises higher in the air, his back curving in an arch so graceful it should be a sin.

_"Mmngh,_ I'm— _hah_ — _please,_ I'm so _close,"_ he tells her, fingers white-knuckled in the sheets. He is so desperate with desire that she lays a hand over his, kissing his shoulder again when he twines their fingers together, clutching at her like a lifeline. "So  _cuh-close_ —please, _please,_ don't stop, don't stop, _don't stop—"_

And who is she to deny him when he begs so prettily, when his eyes shut so tightly against the bliss burning through his veins?

"Do you want to come, Asra?" she asks, low and soft and sweet.

_"Yes,"_ he chokes out, breathless and lusty and _loud._ "Yes, _please,_ wanna— _hah_ —wanna _come,_ need— _need it,_ Rei, please, please, _please—!"_

"Then _come,"_ she tells him, lips brushing the sensitive skin of his neck. "Let _go,_ Asra. I'm here to take care of you."

A wordless cry is all he can give as the tension they'd built up inside him _snaps,_ shudders wracking his frame as he comes undone. And it's a giddy high to fuck him through it, same as he always does for her—to watch as he trembles through his peak and spills unashamedly onto the sheets.

Asra is a _fantastic_ lover; she has no complaints, has never been anything less than satisfied whenever he loves her either tender or fierce—but there is _something,_ too, in the way she guides him through release—something that makes pleasure curl tight tight _tight_ in her heart if not between her legs. It's its own reward, too—to see him allow himself to break apart under her hands, trusting her to put the pieces back together, good as new. _Better_ than new, even, because the words _he is_ _loved, he is loved_ thrum through the hairline cracks, reminding him always that he deserves the world.

When Asra finally collapses, spent, eyes closed as he catches his breath, she pulls the toy out of him, treasuring the moan that rumbles low in his throat. She cannot help her smile as she tugs the towel out from under his boneless weight and tosses it out of the alcove, before she slips out of the harness, giving the phallus a simple perfunctory cleanup and putting it away. Those are problems for tomorrow; right now the only thing she cares about is the lazy, contented smile on Asra's face as he beckons her closer, and she is helpless to resist.

She squeezes in beside him, letting him sling an arm and a leg over her and rest his head atop her chest. He looks up at her through lidded eyes; sex always did make him sleepy. Well, sleepier than usual.

But even still he snakes a hand between her legs, and she laughs, brief and startled, and slaps it lightly away. He pouts, peevish.

_"Sleep,"_ she insists, a fond grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, and guides his head to rest against the steady beat of her heart.

_"Tomorrow,"_ he says, almost a threat in the low timbre of his voice, "I'm gonna take care of you _so well."_

She smiles, and presses a kiss into his unruly, sweaty curls. "I didn't do all that just to _collect,_ Asra," she says, echoing his earlier words.

_"Wanna_ take care of you," he slurs in clarification. "Wanna fuck _you,_ too."

She giggles, effervescence rising in her chest as she takes in the sight of his afterglow. She cards her fingers through his hair, letting her nails scrape lightly along his scalp, knowing it makes him even sleepier. Asra grunts, protesting, knowing full well what she's doing, but he cannot keep his eyes open under her ministrations.

"Tomorrow, then," she whispers in agreement, as his breaths begin to even out.

"Just you _wait,"_ is the last thing he says, before fully nodding off, and her heart feels full enough in this moment that she's still smiling even when she, too, eventually falls asleep.

_(She was right,_ is the thought that swims to the forefront of her mind as she's dragged under the current of sleep. _She_ _really is going to be stupidly in love with him forever.)_


End file.
